


Impolitic

by kayliemalinza



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, alien sex pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-21
Updated: 2008-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:10:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayliemalinza/pseuds/kayliemalinza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Alien sex pollen," Jack grins.</p><p>Tosh is fairly sure her entire body has turned red. She'd look, but Ianto's in the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impolitic

"Alien sex pollen," Jack grins.

Tosh is fairly sure her entire body has turned red. She'd look, but Ianto's in the way.

"There's not a whole lot you can do except ride it out," Jack continues, trying very hard not to dimple, probably because he realizes that would be impolitic. Just about anything he did now would be impolitic, seeing as he's on the other side of the room with all of his clothes on. Tosh and Ianto are on this side of the room and while they technically are still wearing all of their clothes, it, well, it doesn't count.

Tosh isn't versed enough in these situations to know exactly where the distinction between counting and not-counting is, but she's sure that by the time you're splayed in an office chair, skirt rucked up over your hips and lace-edged panties crooked tautly in the bend of a co-worker's fingertip and pulled halfway down one thigh, you are no longer Properly Dressed. Ianto is still fully buttoned—still has his suit-jacket on, even—but he's past the point of even being a _person_. He is a loosely gathered group of limbs wedged between the chair edge and Toshiko's right leg. Her calf is heavy on his neck and back, her thigh is spilling around the edge of his shoulder, and the whole sight of it is ridiculous, because Ianto is still (still!) wearing his suit jacket and Tosh's leg isn't wearing anything.

Well. To be precise (and precision is a must), the dip just below her kneecap is covered by Ianto's blush-red tie. He tossed it over his shoulder before he settled down to the Important Work of chewing gently at the mound of her pubis.

Toshiko presses three fingernails into her upper lip and turns away from the sight of that, away from Jack leaning, braces haphazard, against a support beam a dozen feet away.

"Tosh?" Jack sounds worried now, and when he talks again he sounds closer. "I can separate the two of you. It'll be uncomfortable, and you'll complain a lot, but there won't be any adverse health effects. The pollen is going to wear off in a few hours no matter what happens, so you don't have to do this if you don't want to."

Tosh shakes her head, stammers, "I don't—" Jack is right next to them now, a wall of clothed and neutral muscle, and she senses he's about to pull them apart so she blurts, "I don't _know!_ "

Jack crouches down, one hand steadying himself on the chair arm, just below where her hand slants off of it to grasp at Ianto's knuckles and the tensile edge of her panties. "You have to make that decision right now," Jack says sternly. "This is as clear-headed as you're going to be for a while."

Tosh sucks in a breath, rolls her head from side to side. Ianto drags his lips down just a quarter inch, tongue prodding out—Tosh arches—Jack says, "Ianto, stop that for a second." Ianto's hum means clearly _no_ , petulant but soft against her. Jack barks out, "Ianto, _stop_ " and Ianto is suddenly removed. His hands and fingers, his back, the solid bump of his shoulders are all there but his face is gone and Toshiko feels cold.

She looks.

Jack's hand is fisted in Ianto's hair, holding him back. Ianto's neck arches and Toshiko wishes he had been a little less determined, wishes he had thought to unbutton his collar at the very least before he lost himself.

She concentrates for a moment on the need for a steady inhale-exhale rhythm. "Why aren't you asking him?" she says.

"We've already talked about it," Jack says, as if that's completely normal.

Ianto's eyes are glittered slits. Tosh puts down a hand to touch the hard white ridge of teeth behind his lips. "You—what?"

Jack chuckles—just an amused whuff, really—and shakes Ianto's head slightly when he tries to suckle Tosh's fingers. "You know," he says warmly, "if you're going to wear skirts at the office, people are going to notice that you have gorgeous legs."

Toshiko smiles wanly. She knows, technically, that she has nice legs, has even admired them in the mirror, and wouldn't wear such impractical shoes to a job like Torchwood if there weren't a pay-off. She even knows that Jack knows it, and Ianto and Owen too, but there's a difference between catching Ianto looking down for a just a bit too long and seeing him _between_ those legs, breathing quick across his slick-shined lips.

She knows, too, that she should question Jack more, ask Ianto to say something coherent, because as it stands there is no real proof that Ianto is in control of anything, that his actions are anything more than instinct and a psychotropic drug. She knows this, but a tiny, laughing part of Tosh—one that she never admits to having, never lets speak unless the lights are off—says that Ianto as some limbs and lips and nothing more is _good_.

She draws her fingernails across the fullest part of Ianto's lip. "This is fine," she says. "It'll do."

Jack's eyebrow arches up but he lets Ianto go. Ianto slips forward to his place as if he'd never left, and Toshiko runs her fingers through his hair to smooth it out, to make it look as if Jack's hand had never been there. She wriggles in the chair to ease her joints then shudders and her head lolls back, obeying a sensual directive higher than her ego or her reason.

"I'll just leave you two alone, then," Jack is saying from somewhere, backing farther off. His voice is muffled—no, Toshiko's blood is loud, and Ianto's making noises. "But I'll keep an eye out just to make sure nothing goes wrong. Ok?"

"Yes," says Tosh. "Yes, yes, yes."


End file.
